


In This Light And On This Evening

by Ad_Absurdum



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Smiths
Genre: Humor, M/M, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/pseuds/Ad_Absurdum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How could they see the love in our eyes and still they don't believe us? ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Light And On This Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the name of Editor's album (and song).  
> Disclaimer: Never happened, all slander and lies.

Andy meandered his way across the studio, trying his best not to trip over the cables and pieces of equipment littering the backstage of Top of the Pops. He could hear the audience chattering and laughing, the AD shouting at the lighting guys and sound technician complaining about the noise camera four was making. Again.

Ah, it was good to be back and feel like a regular on one of the most important TV shows pre-teen Andy could imagine. Even if the bands had to mime and the first time The Smiths came here they were told their clothes weren't good enough for national television (not that it made the slightest difference). He was still on the same show, though, in the same place as Mick-fucking-Karn. Un-fucking-believable, Andy grinned to himself.

He stopped for a moment, waiting as a camera was being rolled towards the other end of the studio.

"Hey, mate. Got a light?"--Andy heard to his left and turning around, he saw a bloke - about his own age - holding up a cigarette in a questioning gesture.

"Uh, sure." Andy fished his lighter out of the pocket of his jeans and held the flame up until the other man exhaled a cloud of smoke and nodded his thanks.

"Cheers, mate. I'm Rolo, by the way. Rolo McGinty." He extended his hand and Andy shook it, wondering if 'Rolo' was some sort of stage name or the guy's real name. Rollo - wasn't that a brand of chocolate drops or something? Andy tried to prevent a snort of laughter from escaping his mouth.

"Andy Rourke."

"Yeah, I know. We're on the same label."

"Really?" Andy frowned, hoping he didn't come across as a stuck-up bastard, but completely unable to locate the name or the face anywhere in his memory.

"Yeah." Fortunately, the bloke seemed to take Andy's ignorance in stride. "The Woodentops signed to Rough Trade a couple of months ago."

"Oh yeah."

Oh great. Now Andy's sole recollection at the band's name was one of Morrissey's puns the singer was so fond of coining. The Woodentops = The Sudden Flops. Charming.

"Good luck, then," Andy added, fighting a tremor around his mouth that threatened to become a full grin.

"Thanks, mate." Rolo took a drag on his cigarette. "Though your singer probably wouldn't put it this way. What did he call us? Oh yeah, The Sudden Flops, wasn't it?" Rolo's lip curled in disdain.

"Uhm..." Andy looked to the side and shuffled his feet. He had no idea what he was supposed to say.

"Hey, that's okay, mate," Rolo shrugged. "Not your fault Morrissey is such a prick, right?"

Andy pursed his lips.

"Morrissey's not a prick," he said without much conviction. Well, he wasn't usually. But sometimes he was.

Rolo snorted with laughter. "You're all right, Andy, mate. So what's Morrissey's really like, then? Bit of a loon and a primadonna, eh?"

Andy frowned, but smoothed out his expression again and shrugged. "Not really. He's just a normal bloke, is all."

"Normal!" Rolo crowed and Andy decided they obviously weren't going to be friends for life.

"Shit, I've never thought I'd hear Mozzer described as normal." Rolo laughed. Then seeing Andy's less than amused expression, said, "Sorry, mate, but you've got to admit the guy is a bit of a weirdo."

When Andy said nothing, Rolo puffed on his cigarette and added in a contemplative tone, "And another thing I don't get: why won't he just say he's a queer instead of that whole nonsense with 'ooh, no I'm not, I'm celibate'?"

"Mozzer's not a queer," Andy spat reflexively, hazy notions of defending Morrissey's honour tumbling through his head. Because until Mozzer himself declared one way or another, Andy wasn't going to just stand there and listen to such rubbish. "And even if he was, why do you fucking care?"

"I don't care." Rolo shrugged, looking bored. "But that's awfully hypocritical for a guy who's so bloody quick to point faults in the others, innit?"

Andy glared.

"Yeah, well maybe he doesn't want the details of his _private_ life to be in every fucking newspaper," he said belligerently and turned around, fully intending to leave.

"Whatever. Though I bet it must be pretty awkward when you're changing after the show. You know, undressing in front of him when you've got only one dressing room. Or maybe that's it," Rolo blathered on, unaware of a murderous glint appearing in Andy's eye. "Maybe you're actually _that_ sort of band, eh? After all, it takes one to know one, right?"

Andy heard a burst of obnoxious laughter behind his back and decided enough was enough. He turned around. He wouldn't give the wanker a black eye - or two - even if he really wanted to; he had another idea. Hard to say if it was a better one - his love for practical jokes nearly got him expelled from school - but for better or for worse, the joker in Andy had just woken up.

With a sickeningly sweet smile, Andy stepped closer.

"That's really none of your business." Andy looked the still sniggering Rolo straight in the eye and his smile turned just a little bit sadistic. "But yeah, you got that in one, mate."

Rolo stopped chuckling.

"Why do you think we're so tight as a band, so _good_ together, hm? Better than you'll ever be." Andy arched his eyebrows provocatively. "Well, let me tell you. Because we know one another inside and out."

Rolo looked supremely uncertain. Andy's smile became a thing of pure evil.

"And what better way to really get to know a bloke than by practically sucking his brains out through his dick. Reduced to instincts, there's really not much you can hide."

That ought to shut the smug fucker up, Andy thought uncharitably, watching Rolo's eyes widen with shock and the man himself turn a subtle shade of green.

His quiet triumph appeared to be very short-lived, though, as the next momet the smug fucker laughed in his face.

"Oh, that was a good one, mate. Nearly had me there." Rolo clapped Andy's shoulder. "I get it, no messing with ya."

Andy frowned, trying to project his most trustworthy persona. "But it's the truth. Go on, ask any of my bandmates."

"Yeah, right." But Rolo didn't look that convinced now. In fact he seemed quite nervous, taking quick drags on his cigarette and looking everywhere except at Andy.

 _Good_ , Andy's mental voice purred with satisfaction, but then he noticed Rolo's eyes suddenly widening with a sort of hopeful desperation.

"Hey, Morrissey, mate! Come over here for a sec, would ya?"

The words were accompanied by frantic waving and Andy, following the line of Rolo's gaze, felt his insides turn to ice.

'Shit' seemed to sum up the situation pretty accurately.

Unbeknownst to Andy, Morrissey's reaction to hearing his name was in very much the same vein. He had been pacing around the backstage area in an effort to burn some of the nervous energy that always accumulated before any performance, when he spotted Andy and this other bloke talking. Andy had his back to him, but the horrified look on the other man's face made Morrissey stop just close enough and just in time to hear what exactly his usually quiet, unassuming bassist was saying.

'Shock' was putting it mildly. On its heels, though, came the astonished realisation that there were apparently some hidden depths to dear Andy Morrissey would have never expected. True, they appeared to be quite deeply hidden, but it was amazing to watch once they surfaced.

Morrissey took a deep breath and having finally gathered his wits reasonably back about him (along with his jaw that probably hit the floor - at least it felt like that), was in the process of making an unobtrusive escape from the scene. Fortunately, neither Andy nor the other guy had noticed him yet, but of course it just couldn't last even long enough for him to vanish behind a convenient studio corner. The other man, who now that Morrissey gave the matter some attention, looked vaguely familiar in addition to looking faintly sick, yelled his name and that was that. Morrissey briefly thought that he could still make his escape, but that would really look too much like running away and he wasn't a coward, damn it.

Morrissey lifted his chin and walked towards the two.

"Hello," he said politely, extending his hand to the unknown prat who apparently couldn't live without making his acquaintance. He also tried to smile reassuringly at Andy because the lad looked absolutely horrified. Being privy to the recent conversation, Morrissey could sort of understand why. Judging by the fact that the look of abject terror on Andy's face eased off somewhat, Morrissey's calming tactic went down rather well, though. Wasn't that nice.

"Hi, Morrissey. Uh..." the guy, who still looked somehow familiar, shifted his eyes from Morrissey to Andy and back again. "I was talking to Andy here and he's got some pretty wild stories to tell."

"Really?" Morrissey's tone was mildly curious.

Andy gulped.

"Yeah. You see, he's told me you guys, the band I mean, have some interesting, er... bonding rituals." There was a nervous chuckle.

"Hm?" Morrissey smiled faintly. Silently he was thanking Heavens above, or maybe Hell below, for his ability to recover from any kind of shock speedily enough to appear completely unaffected. That was beyond helpful.

"Yeah."

There was an awkward silence.

"So?" Morrissey prompted, not entirely sure he should do that. Standing there and waiting for further elucidation on the subject, though (which didn't seem to be forthcoming, by the way) held even less appeal.

"You mean, it's true?" It looked like Rolo's eyes were about to pop out of his head. "No, I don't believe it. You're pulling my leg, aren't you."

After realising Morrissey wasn't going to smite him like some particularly vengeful truth-bearer, Andy allowed himself to breathe a little easier and the next words somehow slipped out by themselves.

"No way."

Andy could slap himself. Since it was sort of too late to pretend he didn't say anything, though, he decided to live dangerously and stand by everything he lied. He scrupulously avoided Morrissey's eyes and instead looked at Rolo with all the wide-eyed youthful innocence he could muster. And he could muster a lot.

"I don't believe it," Rolo stubbornly insisted, quite rightly refusing to be scarred for life. "Prove it."

Andy bit his lip, finally darting a glance at Morrissey.

"We-- we don't have to prove anything to you," he said, stuttering a little. "Besides," he continued with more confidence, "what the fuck are we supposed to? have wild sex in the middle of the BBC studio floor? I don't think so."

"No." Rolo winced, trying to stop this particular image from lodging in his brain. "Kiss or something. I dunno."

Andy nearly choked at the suggestion, but he managed to gulp down the embarrassment and was ready to sneer again. And then he felt Morrissey's hand resting gently on the nape of his neck.

"That's all right." Morrissey congratulated himself silently for the calm in his voice. He really didn't feel particularly confident. Quite the opposite, actually. Unfortunately he was also starting to become more and more curious just how far Andy was going to take this little game. This damnable curiosity was going to be the death of him one day.

"We've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Andy turned his astonished eyes to the singer. Did he really hear what he thought he did?

"Have we?" Morrissey smiled a little, feeling like he'd just uttered the famous last words, as it were. _If he doesn't stop it now, the world is surely ending. We're doomed, we're all doomed,_ Morrissey thought fatalistically, watching Andy's eyebrow arch and his lips curl in a small wicked smile. And Morrissey suddenly noticed astounded that Andy had _dimples_. He never knew that. And, good Lord, looking like that his bassist was unexpectedly far more attractive than he had any right to be.

Morrissey licked his lips.

Without his conscious thought, his fingers still stroked lightly the short hair on the nape of Andy's neck and Morrissey was momentarily surprised seeing Andy half-closing his eyes in apparent pleasure. The view was unusual, to say the least. Morrissey stared mesmerised.

"No," Andy stepped closer. Apparently he'd just lost his mind but, hell, if Morrissey wanted to take this further Andy had no objections. Besides, this had to be the best joke he'd ever played on anyone. He tried to keep himself from grinning as he raised his head a little, inviting a kiss.

 _Oh God, we're definitely doomed_. Morrissey, feeling like he'd been hypnotised, leant down that one last inch and his lips touched Andy's.

"Oh fuck." Rolo's faint groan was heard and ignored as were his quickly retreating footsteps.

Ha! success.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Andy had a vague thought he should detach himself from Morrissey right about now. The singer didn't show any signs of stopping the kiss, though. And Andy didn't mind at all. Curious, he opened his mouth a little and wow, that was... great. He made a faint sound deep in his throat, pressing himself closer to Morrissey, his hands clutching his bandmate's hips. He'd never thought kissing a bloke could be so _good_.

Andy sneaked his tongue into Morrissey's mouth, thrilled when the caress was eagerly accepted, Morrissey sucking Andy's tongue and stroking it gently with his own.

And then he pushed back! Plunging his tongue into Andy's mouth and whoa... Andy's knees went suddenly weak as he was kissed to within an inch of his life and his breath was stolen from his lungs by a pair of hungry lips.

Andy felt Morrissey's figers stroke his jaw, then his throat and finally venture into the open collar of his shirt. The buttons popped open as Morrissey's hand went lower and lower caressing Andy's chest and then stomach.

Ooh, that was nice. Had he been able to concentrate on anythig else beside the sensation of Morrissey's fingers on his bare skin or Morrissey's tongue in his mouth, Andy would have wondered why he didn't feel exactly grossed out by being fondled by another bloke. Instead he felt good, really really good and he'd have been happy to just stand there and let Mozzer do whatever he wanted, but at that moment a loud crash sounded somewhere in the studio, bringing the reality and the awarness of where exactly they were, slamming home.

Their mouths parted.

"Hey, watch those boxes, kid." the AD's angry voice floated down the stairs leading to the upper stage. "You drop them and they open and the film's good only for going to the bin."

They were both panting and Andy was staring avidly at Morrissey's flushed face and his wet reddened lips. And it suddenly hit him that all it took was one kiss and he was already half-hard. They both were.

Andy took an embarrassed step back. Or tried to. First he had to extricate his hand that turned out to be inside the back pocket of Morrissey's jeans, snuggly cupping Morrissey's bum.

"Uh, sorry."

"That's... all right." Morrissey cleared his throat, hastily withdrawing his own hand from the inside of Andy's shirt and wondering how it could possibly get in there.

Andy blinked down at himself and started buttoning up.

Morrissey ran his hand through his quiff.

It was all a mite awkward.

At last Morrissey spoke, "Do you think we've convinced your friend?"

"Huh?" Andy glanced up ( _Oh God, he looks like he's been shagged out of his mind. And that's my doing. Fuck._ ) and then around to where that Woodentops bloke should have been. There was no sight of him anywhere.

"I guess so," he said, still rather stunned by what had just happened.

Morrissey sighed.

"Andy, what on Earth was that all about? You told that guy we... the group..." Morrissey couldn't even articulate the thought and he still felt himself blushing.

"Y-yeah. So you've heard that?" Andy's voice sounded strained.

"I've heard enough." Morrissey chewed his lip. "Andy--"

"I'm not queer, you know," Andy rushed with explanations, just in case. "I don't fancy other blokes or anything."

He realised he would have been more convincing if he wasn't staring at Morrissey's lips quite so hungrily. He shook his head, dropping his gaze. What was happening to him?

Morrissey, of course, noticed. His mouth curled in a subtle smile. "Are you sure?"

Andy swallowed. No, apparently he wasn't sure of anything any more.

"Yes," he said weakly.

Morrissey sighed.

"Well, that still doesn't explain _why_ you saw fit to shock that unfortunate individual like this."

Andy blinked. So Morrissey didn't hear everything.

"Well," he stalled, but finally decided to tell the truth. "He was saying some pretty nasty things about you. I couldn't very well let him do that, now could I?"

"You couldn't?"

"Not fucking likely." Andy smiled.

Morrissey was struck dumb at what Andy's words implied. He was also rather unprepared for a feeling of unexpectedly intense tenderness waking up somewhere inside his chest. God, the last thing he needed was a crush on his own bandmate. Who was still grinning at him, cheeks slightly flushed, and looking far too tempting.

Morrissey took a sharp breath.

"Well, thank you."

"Everyone get ready," the director's voice sounded throughout the studio. "We start in five minutes."

"Come on," Morrissey motioned to Andy. "We'd better head back to the others."

"Yeah."

As he trailed behind Morrissey, Andy thought it was a good thing they didn't have to play live tonight. He doubted he would be able to get through Morrissey's usual on-stage striptease without getting lost in some lurid fantasy. One song, though, and one that required nothing but miming at that, he might just survive.


End file.
